Keeping Your Fire Lit in the Colder Months

Couples drift apart for many reasons. One we see often is surprisingly quiet: they stop being genuinely curious about one another.

In long-term relationships, familiarity can begin to masquerade as knowledge.

I know how you’ll react.

I know what you’re going to say.

I know why you do that.

And often, you’re not wrong. Patterns do repeat. People are consistent in the ways that matter. But something subtle gets lost when knowing replaces wondering.

In our work with couples, we hear versions of this all the time:

“You just don’t get me anymore.”

“You don’t see me.”

“What’s the point of explaining? You already have a story about me.”

When curiosity fades, partners stop showing each other their inner world and that’s not because it isn’t there, but because it no longer feels received.

Curiosity isn’t about pretending your partner is a stranger. It’s about remembering that no one stays the same, even inside a stable life. The person you’re married to today is shaped by the week they just had, the stress they’re carrying, the disappointments they haven’t named, the desires they’re not sure they’re allowed to want.

What often blocks curiosity isn’t indifference. It’s protection.

If I already know why you do what you do, I don’t have to risk being surprised.

If I’ve decided what this means, I don’t have to feel the uncertainty underneath it.

If I stay in explanation, I don’t have to step into vulnerability.

But explanation is a closed door. Curiosity is an opening.

We sometimes invite couples to notice how quickly they move from “help me understand” to “here’s what’s wrong.” Or how questions get used as evidence-gathering rather than genuine interest. The tone shifts. The body tightens. The question already contains the answer.

Real curiosity feels different. It slows things down. It tolerates not knowing. It allows your partner to surprise you, even when the surprise is uncomfortable.

This isn’t about being endlessly patient or emotionally available. It’s about choosing, again and again, to relate to your partner as a living, changing person rather than a fixed set of traits.

Staying curious is an act of intimacy. It says:

I’m still interested in who you are becoming.

Not who you were when we met.

But who you are now.

And often, when couples begin to practice this kind of curiosity, something softens. Not everything. Not all at once. But enough to make room for connection to re-enter the space.

Because being known matters, but being wondered about is often what gets the fire lit.